


Dinners for Ash

by ShibaInuit



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anime, Brock's Pokemon - Freeform, Creative License with Chemistry, Inspired by Breaking Bad, My FBI agent is super suspicious of my search history now, Non-spoiler Breaking Bad references, One Shot, tense situations, why did I even bother doing research for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShibaInuit/pseuds/ShibaInuit
Summary: The Pokémon world is an unforgiving place. After watching an episode of a new show, one desperate Professor “Brock” Walnut turns to cooking again to make ends meet. It’s not meals he’s cooking, though… this time, it’s methamphetamine.Breaking Bad aesthetic meets Pokémon. M for mature themes.
Kudos: 1





	Dinners for Ash

Professor “Brock” Walnut collapsed into his cot. It had been a long 32 hours in the lab, yet his heart raced like a living nightmare. His every thought circled: the dissertation, the research grant, the unpaid bills, the “kind benefactors” all too willing to make up the difference. Brock had no intention of getting into debt with them, but… the thought got more tempting by the day.

Wishing desperately for a distraction, he flicked at his mobile. He tapped the first thing in the recommended feed, plugged the device in, and shut his eyes. The man on the camera was cooking something. Peaceful sounds of bubbling butter and fizzling steaks tugged him into unconsciousness.

When he woke up the next mid-morning, though, he was in a worse state. Every sensation was groggy beyond groggy, achy, stiff, and dull from exhaustion. His phone had been playing all night, he noticed. Somebody was fiddling with a glass flask set to a backdrop of rock music. Despite all the pain this job had come with, the thought of being a hardcore-cool scientist like that also brought a smile. It would all be worth it.

“How much?” the device beeped. “For the whole batch, how much?”

“19 bags… 40 times 42… carry the… hmm.” A calculator whipped out. Brock found himself unwilling to move enough to look away.

“600,000 dollars.”

“Six-hundred-thousand?” a scrawny lab assistant squeaked.

“Each,” the scientist confirmed. The two danced around each other. Just the mention of money made Brock want to collapse back into bed.

Six hundred thousand would solve his problems, too. If only he… wait. He sat up, rewound the buffer. What were those two scientists doing that he couldn’t do? Nothing- that’s what. Brock had moved Heaven and Earth for his lab to get this far; he wasn’t about to give up now.

Then the video title made him blanche.

Later, when he had clothed himself and returned to work, his thoughts strayed again to the clip.

Six hundred thousand… for a bag of meth.

Brock had the know-how. Brock had seventy-two hours left. Brock didn’t have many options.

Late that evening, when the next batch of titrations was left to set, he opened up one of the storage rooms he didn’t normally use. His building was once an industrial laundromat, and so it had only been haphazardly retrofitted into a lab. It lacked cleanliness, equipment, assistants… What it did have were vents, inconspicuous ones. Folks wouldn’t be surprised to see smoke drifting from this building.

Brock stared at the empty space. This was ludicrous, he thought, but he was stuck twiddling his thumbs for the next hour until the batch finished. He could have looked at the figures again, but… well, even he didn’t want to pore over that godawful document a fiftieth time. There were other things to fret about.

He left, shaking his head, and scarfed down a cheese sandwich for dinner.

His stomach groaned.

“Alright. I’ll set it up,” he mumbled to himself. “I won’t even have all the tools anyway. This is just… just passing time.”

But time passed slowly enough that he did see he had the tools. Laid out before him were all the things that he, academically, knew would cook up a solution to his woes. He didn’t have any prepped ingredients- but that didn’t mean they weren’t here.

“Is there anything else I could make,” he mumbled to himself. But no, there was not- nothing that he could think to sell.

God, where was he even going to peddle the stuff? And why was he considering it!? He stepped away, back to his real workstation, and wished he had a stiff drink.

“Croa-oa-oa?” came the cry of a small, poison frog. Professor Walnut leapt at the sound. Croagunk had come in from the outside play area.

“What’s wrong, bu-” he stopped. Croagunk was holding an empty food bowl.

“I filled that, just today, didn’t I? It was the-” last of the bag, the thought hung. And then Brock remembered that it had been _two_ days, not one.

“…there…” He knelt in front of Croagunk. “There isn’t any more today. Can you take everyone out to go find berries?”

This helped the frog, who was used to such foraging. With a nod, he walked back out the door.

Brock was out of options.

“Wait!” he called. “Can… you send Ludicolo in after?” Croagunk nodded. “Don’t go too far, I need… everyone’s help on something. Soon.” Croagunk nodded and called to the group outside.

Ludicolo didn’t need to be asked twice. He shot into the room, banging his head on the door. “Ludicolo!”

“Hey there,” Brock smiled. It was guilty.

Ludicolo didn’t seem to mind. He ran right up and hugged his trainer.

“Love you too,” Brock sighed. “Listen, Ludicolo. I’m going to need a favor…”

And in short order, Brock had Ludicolo sitting (while tapping its feet) against the wall. Brock had a pair of scissors in hand. “This shouldn’t hurt, right? If it hurts, tell me to stop.”

“Ludicolo?”

“O-Okay.” Brock’s hands shook, but he steadied them. There was no room for mistakes.

_Snip! Snip!_ A thin layer of stringy fur dropped to the ground. Ludicolo held as still as it could, but it didn’t look happy. Brock knew every hair on its body was connected to the nerve cells, capable of feeling and reacting when music was on. This could have been like cutting off a Meowth’s whiskers, for all he knew. The strands of cut fur felt like thin, reedy twigs. When Brock had at least a handful, he decided he could do no more. Ludicolo looked relieved, but loyal.

“That’s... that’s fine. Can you… can you go get Ponyta?”

“Ludi! Ludicolo!” he shouted, dancing out the door. He danced even more off balance than before.

Brock had no time to waste, yet again. He put the fur into a beaker, then added a hydrochloric acid solution. Ludicolo were known for their energetic behavior activated by music- and as Brock had once studied firsthand, the strangely high dose of Ephedrine in their skin. It activated into a medicinal stimulant for the user- and when recombined correctly, into a different stimulant altogether.

Ponyta must not have gone berry hunting, for she galloped in quickly.

“Hi Ponyta. Um… can you smolder, for a bit? I need a sample of the ashes.”

Ponyta brayed approval, then dimmed her flames. Smoldering was a dangerous enterprise, for a fire type; Brock didn’t have much time, but he did have a petri dish and a little scraper tong, so he began to flake away at the edges of Ponyta’s skin as fast as he could. The flame sizzled without burning him. He had no guarantees on this, but he hoped he might find some red phosphor that way. Most fire types with an open flame had some. It was either this or go buy bulk matches, and his funds were thin enough already.

Ponyta whined and Brock immediately stopped. Mew, what was he doing? This wasn’t-

“Pony. Tah tah.” Ponyta nudged Brock, looked meaningfully at the dish. She leaned more towards him, took her flame desperately low. She wanted him to get more.

“Okay, only a little,” he conceded, knowing how stubborn she could be. A few flakes more, the minimum he thought she would accept. Then, he sent her back outside.

“When Forretress comes back, I need to talk to him. Okay?”

Forretress was waiting outside the door.

“Did none of you go get berries?” Brock huffed. One look out the window told him, evidently not.

“Okay everyone. Scram! Go get dinner! I’ll be fine.” It was clear Brock would not be fine.

“Croa-oa-oa.”

“Croagunk, buddy. Please. I… I need to work. This is important. I need to know you guys can get food. And hey, can you get some for me too?” he appealed to his Pokémon’s generosity.

The frog shook his head. With a long glace back, he began to lead some of the Pokémon away. Brock hadn’t brought many with him to the lab, only the few that still needed personal attention or who would be able to help care for others. And in retrospect, even that was not working.

Soon it was just him and Forretress.

“Ok buddy. I need a sample of your shell. Can you use explosion, somewhere safe?”

“Forr! Tssssssss-”

“WAIT-”

Forretress blew up the backyard fence. The ground was a smoking crater lined with metal shrapnel. None of the shards had even come close to Brock, though.

“…well. Okay.” Brock reached to harvest the pieces, but they were hot. He wrapped his hand in shirt cloth to gather some.

“Okay. That’s all. Go join the others when you feel okay, right?”

Forretress hummed from its spot on the ground. That explosion must have been built up of stress, Brock reasoned. He spared a moment to pat Forretress softly.

He tromped back inside with his findings. A few scans later confirmed that yes, he had found phosphorus, aluminum, and the chemicals he was after. With the ephedrine sufficiently isolated in the beaker, Brock had no more excuses left. It was do or die.

Well.

He hesitated with the material in his hands. He had the face mask, the measurers, the recipe… everything but the desire to cook.

He thought back to his days on the road, how he was the team’s mom and chef, how he used his hands and his mind to keep them all fed, happy, healthy. His food had gotten them through contests, championships, long nights. It had been so long since he’d had that feeling. Part of him missed it like he missed his family. What wouldn’t he give for one last dinner with Ash?

He started slowly. He had never done this before, of course, but the chemistry wasn’t any different than his real job. A few grams here, a little dash here… He fumbled with the disinfectant, but didn’t spill, thank Mew. He didn’t need any more nervous mistakes.

The time came for the dangerous step. He was glad he had sent everyone out for this. He slipped on a mask and gloves, tipped the beaker, and looked away. A sizzling, gaseous sound confirmed he was right. The vents flickered on automatically. Everything was… going well. He held his breath on reflex, even if the rebreather was safe.

And then there was a knock at his front door.

He had locked everyone out, hadn’t he? He couldn’t tell.

Debating between his work and the family for whom he did it, Brock left the solution to sit. It could hold for at least five minutes without exploding, right? He’d make it quick.

Once he left the spare room, he closed the door and took off his gear. It sat in a messy clump on the floor.

“You guys didn’t have to kn- oh. _Officer Jenny_.” For once, Brock wasn’t happy to see her shining face. How in the world had she been _this_ on the ball? Who could have possibly snitched when there was nobody else in the office?! Brock fought the urge to hyperventilate.

“Hello Professor. Sorry to interrupt. Are you expecting anyone?”

“…Uh, just my Pokémon. I sent them out to… earlier.”

“Right,” the officer nodded. “Well, I don’t mean to intrude. The station got a noise complaint a while ago, I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was okay.”

He stared blankly, trying to let the words sink in. “Oh. Haha. I’m fine officer, really. Nothing suspicious going on here!” he joked.

“Of course not,” nodded Jenny. “I just need to know what happened so I can tell folks not to worry.”

Brock hoped he wasn’t sweating too much. “My, uh, Forretress was feeling stressed out. Lot of built up energy. I told him to use explosion, but he got too eager and didn’t quite make it past the gate.”

“Ouch. Nobody’s hurt?”

“No, nothing like that. He’s very well trained, he made sure he was out of range, Why, when he was just a young Pineco-”

“May I see?”

“…I… I’m kind of busy…”

“Oh, of course,” she nodded. “I won’t interrupt. If you could show me to the site, I’ll have a quick look and be out of your hair.”

A motionless beat elapsed. Brock tried not to grimace as he stepped aside to let her in.

“Just this way,” he said, pointedly not looking at the spare room or the gear strewn on the ground.

Jenny took a good look around. “Wow, it’s messy in here. You must be hard at work!”

Brock resisted the urge to snap at her. She was still a very beautiful lady, after all. God, why couldn’t this have happened at any other time? He could have shown her all around, made a spot of tea, put on the charm-

“Croa-oa-oa!” came a trademark call. Brock looked behind him to see his poison frog hot on the trail of his thoughts. He was nearly through the door with a poison jab on his hand.

“Croagunk, no!” Brock ordered. The frog skidded to a stop.

“My, you _are_ as good a trainer as they say. He’s a very good Croagunk, isn’t he?” she smiled, extending a hand to Brock’s Pokemon.

“Croa.”

Brock tried to count the seconds that had passed.

“Well this is all lovely,” he said, “but I have a titration solution I need to be monitoring. Officer, it’s just this door.” He stood between her and the spare room, pointing to the back exit. She nodded and set off without a word.

“Croagunk, did everyone get enough berries?” Brock whispered, still on his guard.

“Croa-oa-oa.” The frog held out a little plastic pail of Pecha berries for his trainer.

“…thanks. I’ll eat these later.”

“Croa! Croagunk!”

“Ludico!”

Brock turned to see his whole team waiting in the front door. Another delay, another delay… He checked his watch. He wasn’t sure how much time he had, but it felt close.

“Ludicolo!” The Pokémon held out another bucket for Brock, seemed to want him to eat now.

“Ok, everyone. I need you to stay outside for a bit. There’s a nice officer in the backyard. Let’s let her do her job so I can get back to… mine. I’ll eat once I’ve cleaned up from the lab, okay? Not before.”

They all huffed reluctant agreement, going back to the front lawn with their prizes.

Brock went to check on Jenny. She was examining the smoking crater too closely for comfort. Brock found himself looking for the building’s vent.

“Professor, where’s the shell?” she asked.

“Oh, I cleaned it up,” he admitted. Then, he nearly kicked himself. Would she want to see it? Would he have to open the spare room? Oh, no-

“Okay. That’s everything then! Just wanted to make sure nobody would step on it.”

Brock heaved a sigh of relief that was too heavy for words. He directed Jenny back inside, then to the front door. It was a little rushed.

“Thanks for stopping by. If there’s nothing else you need, I can get back to my work.”

“I appreciate your cooperation,” she said with a respectful bow. “I’ll get out of your-”

An explosion rocked the building, again.

Brock blanched. “Get down!” he roared over the boom. He pulled Jenny to the floor, protecting her with his back.

When the rumble of failure subsided, Brock was staring at a woman pinned underneath his body. How many times had he wanted something like this? How many times had he been unable to control himself- and now, he’d really screwed it all up.

Officer Jenny nudged him, and he stood.

“What happened,” she asked sternly. All good humor was gone now.

“…I thought I had more time,” he admitted.

“Your work.”

“Yeah.”

“What is that smell,” she asked, knowing it full well. It had been all over the Vermillion coast in her police-schooling days.

“…I’m working on a chemical that can preserve samples…”

“That’s a lie, professor.” She reached behind her back for a weapon, and Brock didn’t protest. He just looked tired. Of all the rotten luck in the world.

“Officer,” he nodded. “You didn’t see anything.” His voice was steady, level. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Professor, it’s going okay,” she said, trying to calm him. “We’re going to both walk out of here, right? It’s safe.” Brock actually didn’t think it was safe. There was lingering I2 gas in the air, and he surely didn’t want any of it in his lungs.

“I can’t… you understand?” He tried. “My team. My lab. My life’s work. I need… I need to make ends meet.”

“You give kids their first Pokémon,” she growled. “And you do this. That’s your life’s work, now.”

“Well hey, this is new,” he chuckled, weeks of poor sleep kicking in. Somehow, all of this was… funny. “Started like, half an hour ago. How’s that for timing?”

“Professor. Please put your hands in the air.”

They stared at each other. Jenny drew her gun.

“I’m not asking.”

“…Okay.” Brock lifted his hands slowly.

“And now we’ll walk outside together.”

Brock thought of his team out there, and an awful idea crept in with it. He discarded it. There was no point in making this any worse than it looked.

“Let me say goodbye to them,” he asked. “I love them. I don’t want them to worry.”

“…your Pokémon?”

“Yes.”

“…okay. We’ll go walk outside together.” Jenny released an Arcanine from her belt. “No funny business.”

“No funny business.”

He walked to the front door of his lab, his home, like nothing was wrong. His hands shook.

“I appreciate you didn’t let me get hurt,” she said, looking at the scorch marks on the back of his lab coat. Brock hadn’t even noticed through his shock. “You’ll be okay. Really.”

Brock couldn’t quite answer her.

They stepped outside. “Ponyta?” A chorus of cries joined her.

“It’s okay everyone. C’mere.” He pulled his family into a hug. His stomach growled, but he hardly had time to notice.

“Croa.” The frog held out a Pecha berry.

Screw lab safety. Brock took it in his hands, took a long, sweet bite.

“I love you guys, okay? Brock has to go away for a while. The… the lab’s not home, okay? Go back to Pewter with Steelix and everyone. Okay?”

Ludicolo frowned. Ludicolo never frowned, ever, but he was frowning now.

The hug was long.

Officer Jenny didn’t know what to say.

Jenny felt her heart twinge.

“Let’s go, now,” she whispered. Brock was crying. “Come on. Professor Walnut.”

“You know, Walnut’s not even my last name,” he laughed. “It’s Harrison. I just took the tree name for the laugh.”

“…right,” Jenny nodded. It wasn’t important.

“Twenty years. Twenty years of my life, and it’s gone in a day. Because you showed up.”

“You did this to yourself,” she grunted. “Get moving.”

Brock winced at the harsh words, but he stood. Croagunk nuzzled into his leg, grabbed it.

“No, Croagunk. I have to go now.”

Officer Jenny took his shoulder. Croagunk didn’t let go.

“Please,” Brock whispered, patting his head.

“Croa!”

“Ludicolo!”

“Ponyta!”

“Forretress!”

The group bunched up, made a line around their trainer. Arcanine roared in return, fire on his maw.

“Stop! Stop that,” Brock called to them. They didn’t.

Jenny had to take a big step back. Ludicolo took Brock by the arms, lifted him from the ground. “Let go, hey!”

“Arcanine!”

A battle ensued.

“Chase in progress, I repeat, chase in progress!” Jenny called into a walkie talkie. “Walnut’s lab at the edge of town! I discovered an illicit-” Ponyta shot fire at the thing, melting it. Arcanine roared as Brock’s friends attacked.

“Reinforcements inbound,” she told Arcanine. “We have to hold them!”

The team ran.

“Stop!” she called.

They escaped into the trees.

**Author's Note:**

> What a cluster of an idea. I wanted to experiment with tension in storytelling. How did it feel? Were the stakes high enough? Any criticism is welcome!


End file.
